


Early Bird Gets the Worm

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Bottom Tony Stark, Cap_Ironman Tiny Reverse Bang, M/M, Somnophilia, Steve takes that as the challenge it's not, Tony Stark is not a morning person, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26164840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,” or so Steve Rogers believes. Unfortunately, his boyfriend, Tony Stark, disagrees. That’s alright; Steve will just have to give him a proper incentive.For the 2020 Cap-IronMan Tiny Reverse Bang. Based on a prompt (SHELLHEAD) by wingheads.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 304
Collections: 2020 Cap/Iron Man Tiny Reverse Bang





	Early Bird Gets the Worm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingheads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingheads/gifts).
  * Inspired by [good morning, beloved. [FANART]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24875695) by [wingheads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingheads/pseuds/wingheads). 



“Good morning, sweetheart,” Steve whispers softly, his arms wrapping around Tony, rousing him from his deep slumber.

Tony groans, curling away from Steve as he pulls the covers over his head. “Nope. Don’t wanna.”

“You said you’ve always wanted to wake up next to me.”

Tony had said that but with the expectation that Steve would sleep in every once in a while. Based on the amount of light filtering through the east-facing window – _why did he think that was a good idea???_ – and memories of multiple all-nighters, it is approximately 5:52am, the ass-crack of dawn.

“Blow me,” he mumbles.

He hears a light pop and then the arm formerly-draped around his waist is back again. It tightens as Steve pulls in closer, tucking Tony’s head under his chin. Tony thinks he’s won, that Steve will go back to sleep, but then he feels a slick finger slide along the valley of his ass until it catches on his rim, the tip teasingly sliding in and out, the intrusion shallow. At first.

Steve can’t be serious.

Tony tries to ignore it and his own burgeoning member, thinking that if he doesn’t move, perhaps Steve will lose interest.

No such luck.

The finger persists in its invasion, picking up depth the longer Tony struggles to lie still. Steve presses his erection against the globe of his ass, thrusting slightly to rub himself on Tony’s body.

Tony squirms, sighs under Steve’s touch. “You’re killing me here,” he complains, folding his pillow to cover his head, to muffle his pants.

The finger stills but does not withdraw. “Does it feel bad? I can stop if you want.”

Tony does want, and that’s the problem. He wants to sleep, but he also wants the lazy tingling lurch in his belly to find completion. He wants Steve to stop; he wants to finish. It’s quite the conundrum. Schrodinger’s desire.

Tony keeps his eyes stubbornly closed, his lids twitching. “I was kidding about the blowjob, Winghead.”

“This isn’t a blowjob.” Steve crooks his finger slightly, pressing against the prostate he knows so well. Tony shudders at the sweet drag, shifts into his touch to give Steve better access. “Now, you can spend another twenty minutes sleeping, or…” he pumps his finger, rolling over the hard nub. “I can think of a better use of twenty minutes.”

Tony moans. “…Okay, but don’t wake me up or expect me to do anything.” Before eight, Tony is strictly a pillow prince; Steve can take it or leave it.

Steve takes it.

The arm on his waist travels lower, hand grasping Tony’s erection, giving him a stroke as he withdraws his finger and something larger and more blunt presses against his entrance. He gasps when Steve slides home, setting up a lazy early-morning pace in and out of Tony’s ass. The long line of Steve’s body is firm behind his, warm as a furnace, almost burning him up. There’s a hot tongue on his neck, a nibble of teeth on his lobe and soft panting in his ear. It winds Tony up, encourages him to respond, but Tony is stubborn. He said he’s sleeping, and he meant it.

And then Steve opens his mouth and lets forth a slew of whispered obscenities, throwing out words and phrases like ‘cock-slut’ and ‘throbbing,’ telling him how lovely it is to watch Tony take it, how Steve is going to breed him, use and violate him, and Tony won’t even know it, isn’t even awake to tell him no.

Tony shivers at that.

“You like that, huh?” He rolls Tony onto his stomach with his heft, still buried deep inside. “Is this what you dream about? Someone holding you down.” Large palms close over Tony’s wrists, enough to secure but not enough to bruise. “Making you take it?” Steve picks up the pace, fucking into him with abandon. “No choice but to take Every. Last. Drop,” he says, punctuating his words with hard thrusts.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, bites his lip on a strangled moan.

“I know you like it. No need to pretend you don’t.” No need to pretend he’s still sleeping – they both know he’s not – but here they are, and now that Tony is silent for once, Steve is going to tell him all the things he’s been keeping inside.

“I– I always want to do such terrible things to you,” Steve says haltingly, his tone thick with exertion. “Want to bend you over your work station, tear off your clothes, swallow your cries, and– and lick the tears off your face...” His breathing is rough and heavy, growing more irregular. The skin where they touch is tacky now, slicked with sweat.

He kisses the meet of Tony’s neck and shoulder. His hips roll into his lover’s body, but the pace is erratic now, pressing Tony’s weeping erection into the mattress, sliding it against the satiny sheets. He releases a wrist to help Tony along, stroking him in time to his thrusts.

His voice is low, intimate. “I want to mark your very soul as you have mine.”

Tony cries out as he comes, his hips rising to meet Steve’s as he rides out his orgasm. Distantly, he feels Steve come as well, spilling deep within him, his body tensing and rigid over Tony’s.

Tony falls back down, boneless, onto the pillow.

“I’m wide awake now, Goddamn you.” He kicks him half-heartedly, pushing Steve off to land beside him. He glares at the man, though it lacks any heat. “You kinky motherfucker.”

Steve’s eyes are wide, his demeanor too innocent to be anything but suspicious. “…Waffles?”

There’s a pause, a sigh. “With whipped cream,” Tony adds before clarifying, “ _Hand-whipped._ Fresh.”

Reddi-wip is for short notice only (like when Tony is five minutes past late and still needs sweet spring-loaded sustenance on his way out the door), and it’s not like Steve doesn’t have the time. He has freed up their entire morning, the sneaky bastard.

Steve leans over, ignoring Tony’s pout to kiss his temple.

“As you wish, sweetheart.”


End file.
